DOWNTOWN

I started going Downtown to escape the dark suburban provincialism of the Southside. In the early eighties my parents scraped enough money to put a down payment on the American dream, but by the mid-nineties we lived on the outskirts of that dream, near the stores in the low income duplexes of Nature Drive.

I spent my days working at the Thrifty Drug and Discount Store scooping ice cream and stocking shelves. Some days I took classes at Evergreen Valley College taught by former hippies, radicals, and Mexican-American professors who came out of the civil rights movement. There I found a group of misfits who were into weird music and art. We were all fresh faced rejects. Together we explored Downtown San Jose.

The Cactus Club became our clubhouse. The Cactus was this dark bar Downtown with a huge stage that sold slices of pizza. It was all ages because technically it was considered a restaurant. It smelled of cigarette smoke and stale beer. I loved that smell. In those days, South First was a very different place. A few years before, South First Street had been the red light district of San Jose. Some of the grittiness remained. Coming out of the Southside where everything was new, Downtown seemed old, wild and free. It had not yet been cleaned up. The rents being cheap, a whole subculture was already in place made up of eighties kids who lived in converted Victorians, rode around on old cruiser bikes and shopped at the many thrift stores Downtown. They were writers, artists, musicians, skaters and some were drunks. I spent a few years going to shows and meeting the denizens of Downtown. Naturally, my friends and I started forming our own bands and zines.

By the time I was old enough to drink legally, I had already been going to the Cactus for years. When we were underage, my friends and I drank beers behind Bo Town or in the parking lot of the Rock Garden before shows. The Rock Garden was an old haunted two story red brick building that was once a Salvation army and later a brothel. The old building had been converted into practice space for bands. The Rock Garden was close enough that if you had a show at the Cactus you could just wheel your amps down the street. My band's room was the former bathroom. The tiny windowless room had a boarded up door along the back wall. We kicked down the door and found a beautiful old bathtub and a window that led to the ledge of our second story room. After practice we sat out on the ledge behind the razor wire smoking cigarettes. We looked north onto Market and South First Street, the night waiting for us. My heart broke when that old building was razed. The bricks in a pile behind a chain link fence. They built cookie cutter condos in its place.

In the Cactus Club days, some of the older guys looked down on us with disdain. It was that old school punk rock cool. I hated that vibe. I escaped from the Southside to get away from that herd mentality. Rob was never like that. I saw him around at all the shows, but I never talked to him until one afternoon happy hour at The Usual. My friend Dave and I went in for a drink and he was the only other person in the bar. He introduced himself as Rockin' Rob. We ended up drinking beers and singing along to our favorite songs. After that day he gave me a hug every time I saw him. He was a big man with a big smile and a huge heart. Every time my band played he would be up front. He made shows special. He did that for so many bands. Rob Dapello, always up front supporting.

After meeting Rob, Downtown felt more like home. I knew if I went to the Cactus or some other show he would probably be there. You could always find him in front cheering on the band. He never gave a cold shoulder. He was genuinely happy to see you. Once I went to his party Downtown where I didn't really know anyone, I was about to leave when Rob came up to me with his arms outstretched and a big smile. That night we shot the shit and laughed for hours. He reminisced about the old debaucherous days of being a roadie for the Ice Capades. A lot of people did not know he was an aspiring actor at one time. He told me once during a play he had to take a really bad shit. He said it was the best performance he ever gave. He was fucking hilarious. Rob asked me to play in his band after my band called it quits. We jammed a few times, but I was still pretty broken up about my band. I was a little nervous about telling him I didn't want to play in another band. After I told him he said, "it's alright Johnny," and he gave me a hug. We became closer after that. One night Downtown we were talking and in a soft tone he said, "you know I live with my Momma," a warm smile on his face. He was that kind of person, loyal and caring. Rob was from the apartments of working class Campbell. Every time I go through Campbell I think of Rob.

I didn't go out the night I got the call. It was one of those rare nights I stayed in. The phone rang. It was my friend, he said "Rob died." Rob was at the Cactus Club that night. He was supporting the local bands like he always did. He died in the Cactus during the show. It was devastating for me and it was devastating for Downtown. His memorial was held at the Cactus. It was full of people affected by Rob's kindness and loyalty. I broke down that day in Rocco's bus over a bowl of spaghetti when I realized I would never see him again. The Cactus Club closed soon after because of pressure from the city. The dark years were upon us.

I was lucky to live through the years when South First belonged to the weirdos and misfits. I was lucky to meet Rob Dapello and feel the love he so generously gave. He taught me that the generation that comes after you has value. He supported the younger bands when some others were too busy being bitter by the bar, their backs to us. Rob taught me not to turn away from the younger generation but to champion them. Downtown is once again thriving and the dark days are gone. I wish Rob could be here to see it.

JOHN HUGO SCHMIDT is a zine maker from San Jose, California. His current zines are Helados and Before the Silicon.